Shadows on the Stars
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: An aspiring singing group may pay too high a price for their fantasy. Follows 'Whither My Heart'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _The usual disclaimers apply, and as always, thanks to all readers and especially to my reviewers. Happy spring, everyone, and enjoy…

* * *

_§ § § -- September 12, 1996

"You mean you're not planning to record any more albums?" The question came in a shocked tone from Myeko, who along with six other women sat around the swimming pool at Julie MacNabb's B&B. Prince Errico and Princess Michiko had taken a two-room suite, which Julie had had constructed out of a wing of the house that had formerly been a den, for their month-long stay on Fantasy Island.

Michiko laughed. "Don't look so panicky, Myeko! I don't plan to stop singing, no. It's just that I want to take a break for awhile. I'm thinking about trying something else. I'm not sure exactly what—maybe co-producing my next record, or writing my own songs for a change. All I know is, I just need some time away from the recording business. My other albums are selling just fine, so I see no need to rush my decision."

Leslie, reminded of something, smiled. "Incidentally, Michiko, I know you probably really hate it when people ask you this—but I wanted to see if you'd autograph my copies of your CDs." Everyone laughed.

"Of course, silly," Michiko assured her. "Just bring them over anytime and I'll be happy to do it. Anyone else want autographs, as long as I'm taking requests?"

"You might as well do ours too," Maureen said, chuckling. Her gaze strayed to the pool, where Michiko's stepdaughter, Adriana, was supervising Brianna Harding, Alexander and Noelle Tokita, and David Omamara in the shallow end. "Adriana's so good with the children," she observed.

"She loves kids," Michiko said, "and she's starting to ask why Errico and I haven't had a child yet. I think she wants a little sister."

"Who could blame her?" Tabitha asked, grinning. "I always wished I had brothers and sisters myself. I know Fernando and I want a large family, since he and I are both only children…and we're getting started on that right now."

"You mean you're going to have a baby?" Leslie exclaimed, and everyone sat up and offered delighted congratulations when Tabitha nodded, eyes shining.

"Not to steal anyone's thunder," Camille broke in with an embarrassed little grin, "but I am too, actually." More exclamations rose up, and she hunched her shoulders. "I'd like to have a girl, just to even things out. When're you due, Tabitha?"

"April second," Tabitha replied. "How about you?"

"Early March or so," said Camille. She spotted a movement in the pool and yelled at her son, "David James Omamara, give Alexander back his ball, right now!" She watched him till he had carried out the order, then sat back and sighed deeply. "I'm so glad he's in school. First grade seems to be good for him, but he's really acting out a lot."

"Sometimes kids get jealous of babies," Myeko said, "especially if they've been an only child for awhile. He'll probably calm down eventually." She turned the conversation back to Michiko. "How much longer are you here?"

"Two more weeks," Michiko said. "The children should really be in school, but this was the only chance we had to get away, with Errico caught up in so many duties. So we brought a tutor to help them keep up. And it isn't hard to monitor the Worldwide Orphans Fund from here." This was a charity Michiko had founded shortly after her marriage to Errico, to which all proceeds from her album sales went. It was designed to provide adequate food, shelter and clothing to orphans around the world, and she had admitted that Leslie's experience as an orphan had been part of her inspiration. "It's just so nice to be home, I'm glad we were able to take a full month."

"So are we," Leslie agreed. "We don't get to see enough of you. But maybe now that we have e-mail, and you guys have it in the palace, we might get to keep in touch more often than usual."

Michiko nodded. "You'll all have to give me your e-mail addresses. Leslie, do you have Lauren's?" Lauren hadn't been able to join their gathering; she and Brian conducted daily inter-island tours for vacationers with their hydrofoil launch, and at the moment she was out on one such run.

"Sure, I'll give you that too," Leslie agreed.

"So…what's on the agenda for the weekend, Leslie?" Maureen asked, grinning and invoking chuckles in the other girls. They all well remembered their high-school ritual of grilling Leslie in regard to the fantasies.

Leslie grinned back. "Oh, some fairly mundane stuff. We have a guy who's always wanted to be a TV news anchor, and there's an all-female singing group looking to finally achieve the fame and fortune they've been after for ages. Nothing really out of the ordinary." She tipped her wrist to check her watch. "It's almost lunchtime. Wonder what Julie's got cooking in her kitchen of wonders?"

"Let's find out," Michiko said. "I'm hungry, and I'm glad you are too, Leslie…especially after what you just went through."

Leslie shrugged. "I'm coping. It helps to keep working." She was a touch chagrined, yet perversely glad, for the fact that Christian had stuck to his promise to send her e-mail, even though she found it difficult to send him more than an "I'm fine, thanks" in response. She shook off the cloud of melancholy that tried to descend on her and pushed back her chair. "Come on, let's go talk to Julie." She'd much rather think about the upcoming weekend, which despite its less-than-unique premise still promised to be interesting. It had been her understanding that the singing group was very good, and she wanted to know if they really had a shot at the big-time; they were booked for two concerts at the supper club on Saturday night, which reminded her of something else. "Listen…that group I mentioned? Do you guys have Saturday evening free? They're performing that night, and I thought you'd all like to come to the early show. I'll get you the tickets. I hear they're really good."

Her friends all accepted, and Camille added that she'd see to it that Lauren came as well. Michiko fell in beside Leslie on the way to the house. "What else do you know about this group, Leslie?"

"Not very much," she said. "I think they're all related in some way, but I'm not sure how. Supposedly Father heard a copy of their demo tape, so if he thinks their fantasy is worth granting, then we should really enjoy the concert."

§ § § -- September 14, 1996

Joe Charlimansky, the would-be TV anchor, had just stepped into the clearing from the plane dock, looking excited, and Roarke had summarized his fantasy. "He looks just a bit too well-groomed, if you ask me," Leslie observed with a touch of humor. "He's got TV-anchor helmet-head."

Roarke paused long enough to turn a very dubious look on her. "He has what?"

Leslie giggled a little sheepishly. "That's what I call hair like his, the kind that doesn't move even on a windy day like this. Look at it—it's not budging."

"I suppose that means he looks the part," Roarke said dryly, and she let out a laugh. His eyes twinkled in response for a moment before he shifted his attention to the dock, where a quintet of women were piling out of the seaplane. "This is the singing group that is performing at the supper club tonight—the Foster Sisters. In the order you see them: Joy, the oldest, aged 31; Daphne, the youngest at 26; Brooke, 29; Shara, 28; and lastly, their 30-year-old cousin, Cyndy Malouin, also a group member."

"And their fantasy is to find fame and fortune as a singing group, right?" Leslie asked.

"Yes," Roarke said. "They have worked toward that goal for ten years, beginning even before young Daphne had completed her compulsory education. Unfortunately, they already have one problem that may ultimately hinder their quest for stardom." Without further embellishment, he accepted his drink and raised it. "My dear guests…I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- September 14, 1996

Joe Charlimansky, alias Joseph Charles during his TV-anchor stint, had just departed the main house for the small television studio a few miles outside the western limits of Amberville, armed with a briefcase full of notepads and pens and a tape recorder, and very excited about the news story he was to research and report on for his newscasts this weekend. His parting words had been, "Don't worry, Mr. Roarke, I'll ferret out the bad guys and expose them on my broadcast…you can bet on it!" Roarke and Leslie were still grinning at his enthusiasm when the foyer door opened and the five young women of the Foster Sisters singing group entered, chattering with their own excitement. The four sisters, Joy, Brooke, Shara and Daphne, all looked very much like one another, with long sunbleached blonde waves, gray-green eyes and cleft chins, although Shara was perceptibly slimmer than the others. Cyndy Malouin boasted most of the same physical features, although her hair was a glossy dark brown; she looked enough like her cousins to be mistaken for a fifth sister.

"Hi, Mr. Roarke!" the women chorused, and Roarke's grin came back.

"Hello, ladies," he said. "May we get you anything?"

"We already had those delicious drinks at the dock," Cyndy said cheerfully. "I think I'll wait and have another with lunch."

Joy, Brooke and Daphne concurred, but Shara spoke up. "I wouldn't mind another one, Mr. Roarke. Maybe a Singapore Sling?"

"I'll look into it," Leslie offered and headed for the kitchen. Shara sank into one of the chairs and Brooke, who sported an advanced pregnancy, took the other; Joy, Daphne and Cyndy gathered behind the chairs.

"This is such a gorgeous place, Mr. Roarke," Daphne said, awestruck. "I never saw so many exotic birds. I wish I could take one home!"

Joy rolled her eyes teasingly. "Daphne's our bird enthusiast. She already has three parakeets, two lovebirds and a canary. The last thing you need is a parrot, Daph."

"Oh, I know, but they're so pretty to look at. When we get rich and famous, I'll buy a house, and then I can have all the birds I want. When can we start our fantasy, Mr. Roarke?" Daphne asked brightly.

"Once Leslie has returned," Roarke said, "we'll discuss it. Miss Foster…" he began, addressing Brooke.

Brooke grinned. "I'm 'Miss Foster' only onstage—in real life I'm Mrs. Rutledge. And I'm feeling just fine, thanks…the baby isn't due for another six weeks."

Roarke raised an eyebrow and observed good-naturedly, "I see a great many people have asked you the same questions for some time now." His guests all laughed and Brooke nodded confirmation. "In that case, I will merely remind you that if you need anything at all, you have only to ask the staff and they will do all they can to see that you're comfortable."

"That's great…thanks, Mr. Roarke," Brooke said appreciatively.

Leslie reentered the room then and handed Shara a glass. "All set."

"Good, thank you, Leslie. My assistant and daughter, Leslie Hamilton," Roarke said by way of introduction before taking in the group for a moment. "Perhaps you ladies would be so kind as to provide a little background on yourselves?"

Joy said, "Well, as you know, we started shooting for the big time about ten years ago. Daphne was still in her junior year of high school. We sang at parties, at first for family gatherings, and then for school functions, and then around town…we're from Bellingham, Washington. Two years after we formed our group, our cousin Cyndy moved to town and we found out she was a singer too. She and Shara both do terrific harmony, so we brought Cyndy into the fold. She really added something to the group, because somehow we just took off around the area. We were getting great reviews for our act, and we had bookings not just in Bellingham, but in Everett and even Seattle. It was a logical progression to see if we could impress some big cheese at a recording company, so we sent out demo tapes. Of course, nobody ever responded. We didn't even get all the tapes back. We thought it was some flaw in our singing, so we all had voice lessons and then sent out more tapes…and still nothing. So we thought, maybe the songs…"

"We usually write our own stuff," Cyndy put in, "but we decided to look for some songwriters who might be able to get us some good material. We got about a dozen songs, made still more demo tapes and sent them…"

"And nothing again?" Leslie prompted.

Joy sighed. "Exactly. The weird thing is, every time we made these improvements, our bookings soared and our reviews glowed more than ever. But the record companies just ignored us." She cleared her throat and glanced at her cousin and sisters. "I don't want to sound like we think we're too big for northwestern Washington, Mr. Roarke, not at all. We love what we do and the audiences are so fabulous—it's just that we're ambitious."

"Of course you are," Roarke said with understanding. "A great many ambitious music groups have the same hopes that you do, and receive the same lack of response." He pulled open a desk drawer and extracted the tape that the group had sent him. "While I realize that there are undoubtedly many equally talented musicians hoping for the same break you do, I did find your tape extremely impressive. I had some feedback indicating that you could reasonably expect to find success on a national level." He gave Leslie an oblique look, and she shrugged, smiling. Their guests giggled.

"I do think you're all exceptional," Leslie said. "As a matter of fact, I talked Father into letting me borrow the tape, and I took it over to the manager of the supper club. He was blown away, to use the vernacular. You're booked for two shows this evening: the first one is at seven, the second at ten. And tomorrow you'll be performing at the amusement park. The manager has the pavilion marquee all decked out with your group name, and you have four shows there throughout the day." The group members looked at one another with bright eyes; it meant exposure to vacationers from all over the United States and from a wide assortment of other countries. "Not only that," Leslie added, "but there'll be agents from record companies at your ten-o'clock supper-club show and at the second and third of your amusement-park performances. All from different companies."

This met with squeals of delight and Joy and Cyndy hugged each other exuberantly. Shara raised her glass in toast and downed a goodly percentage of its contents; Brooke and Daphne linked hands and squeezed. "This is fantastic! Thanks so much, Mr. Roarke and Leslie!" Joy exclaimed.

"You're very welcome," Roarke replied with a smile. "You will be sharing a bungalow, the five of you, and I suggest that you go there and rest for a time. George, the manager at the supper club, will expect you for rehearsal and sound check at four this afternoon; until then, the day is yours to do with as you will."

"Then I'm for the pool," Shara announced. "This might be the only chance we have all weekend to relax, and we really should rest the pipes before we do our little concert series. We could bill it as the Foster Sisters Fantasy Island Concert Tour."

"But we have to work out a set list," Joy said. Leslie, listening to her, had the impression that she was the group leader. "That won't take too long, so see if you can hold on a little longer, Shara. Which bungalow do we get?"

"I'll take you," Leslie said. "Right this way."

As the women walked, the group and Leslie chatted, getting acquainted a bit; Brooke revealed that it was her first baby and she was excited, although nervous. "Chris—that's my husband—is back home in Bellingham waiting to find out if we get any good news this weekend. He was worried about me flying at seven and a half months pregnant, but I told him this could really be the break we've been after for so long."

"Of course," Leslie said. The name of Brooke's husband had caught her off guard; seemingly every other thing still managed to remind her of Christian. But she carefully schooled her expression; after what she'd been through immediately following his marriage, she had no interest in more pity. "Your doctor must've okayed it, since you're here."

"I made sure he did," Brooke remarked with a grin. "I told him that if he didn't let me have this chance at stardom and riches, he might not get paid his usual nice fat fee." They all laughed and continued along.

The sisters and Cyndy exclaimed over their bungalow when Leslie let them in, and she handed Cyndy the key and smiled. "Enjoy," she said. "If you need anything, the staff can see to it…and if there are questions they can't handle, Father and I are always available."

"Great," Cyndy said. "Thanks, Leslie." Brooke, Daphne, Joy and Shara added their thanks in chorus, and Leslie paused for a moment.

"You guys sounded a little like your demo tape," she said, a little shyly. "Could you sing a couple of lines, just so I get to hear you live in person?"

Good-natured laughter greeted that and they nodded; the five women lined up in the middle of the room, conferred for a moment and then belted out "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" in rich, soaring harmony. Cyndy and Shara sang harmony to Joy's second soprano, Daphne's alto and Brooke's soprano, with Cyndy a half-tone lower than Brooke and Shara's half-tone providing contrast in between Joy and Daphne. They treated the little song like a ballad, so that Leslie found herself humming along, and when they finished she applauded enthusiastically.

"You guys are even better in person!" she said, evoking laughter. "I got all my friends tickets for the seven-o'clock show tonight, and I know for sure they'll be impressed."

"Thanks again," Daphne said, and her sisters and cousin echoed her. Leslie smiled in reply, excused herself and departed.

"Okay, everybody," Joy said when the door had closed behind her, "let's work out our set list now, so we can get it over with and start enjoying ourselves. I think if we take a fifteen-minute break in the middle, we can probably fit about two dozen songs into a two-hour show."

"Are we starting out with 'Believe Me', like we usually do?" Shara broke in.

"We could," Joy said, eyeing her curiously. "I was thinking of mixing up the order of the songs, just for something fresh."

Brooke shook her head. "I don't know, Joy. Maybe for the first show at least, we should stick to our usual order, so we can kind of get the lay of the land and see what sort of reaction we get from the audience. If it turns out well, we could mix it up for the second show. But let's not change too much too soon."

Joy frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. "That sounds good, Brooke. Okay, then, we can start with 'Believe Me' as usual. But in the second show, I'd like to open with a real rocker. Maybe our cover of 'The Look'…"

Shara shifted restlessly in her chair. "Joy, really, if you're just gonna mix the same old numbers, then there's not much reason for me to hang around, is there? I mean, we always tape a copy of the set list to the stage floor, and I know all the songs backwards and forwards. I really need to get out and get some fresh air, but before I do, I need to take a shower and get into my swimsuit and so on…"

"Shara, what's with you?" Joy demanded.

Daphne grinned. "It's probably restlessness from being cooped up in planes for so long. I can't blame her, Joy—I've got the same problem."

"Couldn't we work on the set list during rehearsal at the supper club?" Cyndy asked. "I mean, it's great to be so gung-ho, but Mr. Roarke said we have the day to ourselves till four, and I really hate to miss out on what little leisure time we've got."

Brooke yawned. "Sorry, but you know us preggos…we need our sleep." That brought on a round of laughter, and Joy flipped her palms up.

"Outnumbered, I see. Okay, okay, do your thing. To tell you the truth, I was hoping to get in some beach time myself. See you at the supper club, everybody." She watched the other women, except for Brooke, get to their feet; Cyndy and Daphne went off to change, while Shara bolted for the bathroom as if she were late for something. "Hey, Brooke…" Joy began, trailing off in search of the words she wanted.

Her sister peered drowsily at her. "Hmm?"

"Do you see anything…weird about Shara?" Joy asked helplessly.

Brooke shook herself awake and struggled into a more upright position on the sofa. "I don't know…depends on what you mean by 'weird'."

Joy frowned, still trying to articulate her vague disquiet. "She just seems…skittish. No, more like jumpy. Too energetic, maybe. She's got all this…this get-up-and-go all the time. She's turned into one of those people who just can't stay still."

Brooke listened with a curious frown, considering Joy's words and thinking back. "I can't really say I've seen much different about her, if you want to know the honest truth. Shara's always been kind of excitable, though. I mean, she always gets nutty and nervous in the last couple hours before a show, but once she's onstage she's professional all the way."

"I know," Joy mumbled, slowly shaking her head. "She always shuts herself in her dressing room and doesn't come out till we get the cue. I just don't get that."

"That's just Shara," Brooke said through another yawn. "I don't see her acting any different from usual. My opinion here is that it's probably excitement because we're about to finally see our dream come true. With Mr. Roarke granting our fantasy, and stardom just waiting for us, I'm kind of antsy myself. In fact, it's the only thing keeping me awake at the moment, and it won't be long before even that isn't enough." She grinned.

Joy laughed and gave up. "Okay, go take your nap already. Maybe I'm just seeing things that aren't there, I dunno." She got up and knocked on the door of the room she was sharing with Cyndy and Brooke. "Hey, cousin, you done in there yet?"

Ten minutes later Shara emerged from the bathroom and glanced around the main room of the bungalow; no one was there. She peeked quickly into the bedrooms; Joy, Cyndy and Daphne were gone, and Brooke was sound asleep on one of the beds. Shara sighed to herself with relief. This would be the only chance she'd get till they got to the supper club, and she couldn't last that long. She hurried into the room she shared with Daphne and began to scrabble single-mindedly through her suitcase.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- September 14, 1996

The group met at the supper club at four as promised; Brooke had benefited from a long nap, while Daphne nursed a sunburn and Joy and Cyndy compared exotic flowers they'd seen while wandering trails and horseback riding, respectively. Shara was bouncy and full of energy, greeting everyone brightly and looking around with curiosity. "Did you get the set list all figured out?" she asked.

"Got it right here," Joy said, waving a sheet of paper at her. "George had to run out a minute, but he said he'd be right back to help with the sound check. Where'd you go?"

"Sat at the pool and watched guys," said Shara, grinning. "I had a couple of really tasty drinks too. They make wonderful drinks on this island."

"I guess you managed to remember your sunscreen," Daphne said ruefully, examining her red skin. "Does anyone have any aloe?"

Before anyone else could reply, George came back in. "Afternoon, ladies," he said. "Well, how about we start that sound check, and you can do your rehearsal?"

The sound check went well and their rehearsal was about half complete when the door opened and Leslie came in. She paused long enough to listen to the singers, then began to applaud between songs, surprising them and then making them laugh. "Hi, Leslie," Cyndy called out. "What brings you here?"

"Just wanted to see that everything's going smoothly," Leslie replied, approaching the stage and then squinting at Daphne. "Wow. Where were you that you got that sunburn?"

"I rented a moped," Daphne explained. "I think I covered the entire island."

Leslie grinned. "I see. Does it bother you a lot?"

Daphne shrugged and said, "Well, I can forget about it as long as I'm singing. Listen, not to change the subject or anything—but are there going to be any agents watching our first show?"

"Oh, God…do you want to turn me into a nervous wreck?" Joy demanded. "Don't answer that, Leslie, please. If there _are_ any agents, let 'em wait till we're finished."

Leslie put up her hands in mock surrender, chuckling. "Anything you say. I just wanted to be sure everything's going well. Oh…Shara, there was a guy at the main house about an hour and a half ago, asking for you."

Shara's eyes widened; her sisters and Cyndy stared at her. "Did you meet somebody at the pool, or what?" Brooke asked.

Shara cleared her throat. "Did he need to see me right away?"

"He said no," Leslie replied. "I told him he could find you here if he really needed to talk with you. He seemed pretty casual about it, though."

"Oh…okay," Shara said and began to ostentatiously adjust her microphone. "Thanks, Leslie. I guess I'll see him between shows."

"Good enough," Leslie agreed. "See you later on." She left, while Shara tried to ignore the stares she was getting.

"Come on, Shara, _did_ you meet some guy?" Brooke persisted.

Shara frowned. "He's just someone I know from back home," she said. "Look, I need to take a bathroom break, as long as we're standing here yakking. Be back in a few." She scuttled offstage while the others stared after her.

Finally Daphne said dismissively, "Hey, if Shara met a guy here, then I say it's her business, and she'll tell us when she's ready. And if he really is someone from back home, then it's probably that geek who had a crush on her in high school."

Joy and Brooke both started to laugh. "Howie Helms? I thought he gave up on her ages ago," Joy said. "Poor Shara, she just can't shake the guy."

"In that case, I think we better take it easy on her," Brooke said, giggling. "We've teased her about Howie enough to last for the next half-century. It's bad enough she has to deal with him here without us being on her back about it."

Cyndy grinned. "It's all the same to me," she said. "If Shara's at the back door beating him off, then Daph, how about you and me going to see if we can find some aloe for that sunburn? Wouldn't want you fainting from the pain halfway through the show."

About ninety minutes later the supper club had filled with patrons; Joy, peering out through the curtains, picked out Leslie seated at a table with half a dozen other women. Cyndy came out behind her and asked, "How's the crowd looking?"

"Great," Joy said. "Looks like Leslie brought a bunch of friends to the show. I saw her at a table with them, jabbering away."

"Nice of her," Cyndy said with appreciation. "Well, it's almost showtime. You think we can talk Shara out of her dressing room just once to join in our pre-show powwow?"

Joy snorted. "I wouldn't even bother," she said. "Let's just go over our checklist and be sure everything's in place, and then we'll get into our costumes and get started."

Just before they were to start their show, with George out front announcing their act, Shara popped out of her dressing room, joining her relieved relatives. "We were starting to think you'd miss the cue," Brooke muttered.

"Me? Never," Shara scoffed, beaming. "Let's do it!"

And sure enough, the show went off without a hitch; it was their usual mix of cover songs and their own original material, starting with a tune Brooke and Cyndy had written called "Believe Me." They found themselves called back for an encore, to their delight, and gladly gave one before exiting the stage once more. They had a little less than an hour before their second show, and their adrenaline was still flowing as they gathered fresh costumes and lined up to take turns in the little shower that served all four dressing rooms.

Shara, seeing the line, groaned. "I'm going back to our bungalow for my shower," she said. "See you guys in a bit."

"Shara…" Joy called after her, but her sister zipped away down the hall and out the back door. "Blast it. She's jumpier than ever, and we don't even know if there were any agents in the audience."

Brooke sighed. "Come on, Joy, give her a break. We know there will be in the next one, and she's probably all hyper about it. I really think you're obsessing just because Shara handles pre-show nerves differently from the rest of us."

"Yeah, hang loose, sis," Daphne suggested with an easy grin. "She'll be back."

Cyndy, wrapped in an oversized towel, stepped out of the steamy shower cubicle. "Next," she called. "Be careful of the hot-water handle. It lives up to its name and then some." Her cousins laughed; Brooke went in for her turn and Cyndy started for her dressing room, then paused. "Where's Shara?"

"She claimed she couldn't wait for the shower here and ran off to the bungalow to use that one," Joy said.

Cyndy eyed her quizzically. "You sound like you don't believe that."

Joy shrugged. "Well, she never did that before."

"Probably because we were never within sprinting distance of an extra shower before this," Cyndy suggested logically. "Come on, Joy, quit worrying about Shara. We're all a little nutty on account of those agents and all."

"Like Brooke said, she deals with nerves differently from us," Daphne said, nodding. "Of course, if you want one of us to play spy and sneak after her to see what she's really up to, instead of just taking her word for it…"

Joy screwed up her face in frustration. "If it's so innocent, then why is my intuition screaming that something's wrong?"

"Because your intuition likes to cry wolf," Daphne said cheerfully. "Shara's just super-crazy this time, instead of regular crazy. We've all got extra nerves. Why do you think I didn't eat supper? I didn't have room for it around the butterflies."

Cyndy snickered and said, "Yeah, and you're usually the eating machine, show or no show. So there you go, Joy. Give it a rest, huh? I gotta get my hair dried." She ducked into her dressing room. "Hey, aren't these costumes supposed to come with shoes?"

Her question ultimately sparked a mass shoe search, making even Joy forget her misgivings about her sister. For that matter, Shara appeared in plenty of time for the second show and joined in the hunt, settling Joy's worries.

Following the second show, which was as well received as the first one, the sisters and Cyndy retreated backstage to do some hasty freshening up before meeting three or four agents who had expressed interest in them. Joy finished first and stepped out of her dressing room with the intent of returning to the stage, when she heard a voice that made her pause. She recognized it as Shara's, and it sounded as if she were on the phone with someone at first. After a few seconds Joy detected a second voice, this one male, and stifled a grin. Maybe geeky Howie Helms really had followed Shara to the island. She started towards the back door to offer her sister a means of rescue, then stopped dead when Shara's voice rose a little, just enough that Joy could make out a few words.

"Dammit, Howie…lightning…have to…freaking crazy!" Shara was hissing. She fell silent; Howie's voice was too low for Joy to hear, but she wasn't listening in any case. What did Shara mean by _lightning_? As far as she knew, the forecast was for perfect weather.

"Get lost, Howie," Shara said, with such disgust that her voice came through loud and clear. She slammed the door and stomped down the hall, nearly colliding with Joy before Joy could dodge aside. "Oh…hi there."

"Guess old Howie figured out where we were gonna be this weekend," Joy kidded lightly. "Guy just can't take no for an answer, can he?"

Shara shrugged, a silly grin splitting her face. "Guess not."

"Are there supposed to be thunderstorms tonight?" Joy wondered idly, strolling in the direction of the stage.

"Thunderstorms? I don't know, why?" Shara asked blankly.

"I just heard you mention lightning, that's all," Joy said.

Shara stopped walking. "Oh," she said, and for just one moment looked startled, her gray-green eyes wide. Then she snorted. "Howie's still a geek," she said. "I thought it looked like a storm might be coming, and he said he was going to stand on a beach and watch it, and I told him he'd just get hit by lightning."

"I see," said Joy, peering at her curiously. "You were that concerned about him that he made you mad about it?"

"Well, if he got hit and survived it, he'd probably blame me," Shara bantered, and they both snickered. "Like I told him, he's just crazy. So where's everybody else? I thought we were supposed to be meeting with some agents."

"We are. I just finished first," Joy said, and at that point Daphne emerged from her own dressing room.

"It's all yours, Shara," she said, and Shara tossed a quick thanks at her, ducking inside and shutting the door. "I can see Brooke being slow, but what about Cyndy?"

Joy threw her hands in the air. "That impatient, are you? Why don't you come on out with me and we can make small talk with the agents while we're waiting for Cyndy and Brooke and Shara." Daphne eagerly agreed and they headed out.

‡ ‡ ‡

At the main house, it was nearly midnight and Leslie had just retreated to her room to get some sleep. Still a little wound up, she turned on her computer, changing clothes while she waited for it to boot up; then she went online to see if there were any messages. For her and her friends, e-mail was still enough of a general novelty that it had largely taken the place of telephone conversations; so she found messages from all her friends—along with one from Christian. As they always did whenever anything connected with him came to her attention, the butterflies filled her stomach and she skirted around his message, checking those from her friends first and replying to the ones from Maureen and Tabitha.

But finally she could no longer ignore Christian's message; it was the last one left. _Don't bother with it,_ she told herself, staring apprehensively at his name in the sender line. _It can wait till morning, and you need to get to sleep. Look what time it is. And it's right in the middle of a busy weekend too, so you really shouldn't… _She rolled her eyes. What was the point of trying to talk herself out of it?_ Oh, for crying out loud, you know you're going to look at it. You might as well do it now._ Disgusted with herself, she blew out an exasperated breath, gave in to temptation and opened the message.

My darling Leslie Rose,

I see that you still have trouble writing to me. I can only hope that you'll eventually open up to me again, as you did when I was on the island with you. I so miss those wonderful days we had together.

I have finally learned the true reason for that marriage contract. I caught my brother sprinkling something on his food from a special salt shaker, something he shared only with his three daughters. I was curious and asked him what it was. When he refused to tell me, I mentioned it purely by chance to Marina, who explained it to me. I had never heard of amakarna before she told me about it, but now I am afraid I know all there is to know about it. I have been so angry with Arnulf ever since the day he informed me that he had married me to Marina that I have spoken to him only when I felt it absolutely unavoidable. Now that I know why he did what he did, I don't speak to him at all. He has done his utmost to destroy my life and Marina's; she and I both are in love with others, and our happiness has been sacrificed for the sake of this spice. A condiment, of all things! I can't describe my fury over this situation. It would be more bearable if only you could see fit to forgive me for not telling you of that contract, my darling. To have daily contact with you, to have a window on your everyday life, is the only thing that keeps me sane. Marina said you told her you would wait for me. Are you going to wait in silence?

All my love, Christian

Leslie bit her lip and read the message two or three times before sighing heavily. She was indeed still blaming Christian, when he was even more trapped than she. Trying to compose a response in her head, and about to hit the reply button, she happened to notice the clock in the corner of the screen and gasped to herself. It was well past midnight and she needed to get some sleep. _I'll answer it in the morning,_ she promised herself and signed out of her account before shutting down the computer. This time she intended to have more to say than just a simple, reserved "good morning". A tiny smile crossed her features as she turned off the bedside lamp and settled under the covers.

A couple of minutes later Roarke came up, turning on the hallway light and glancing in on her. "Good night, Father," she said.

"You're still awake?" he asked.

"Just now got into bed," she admitted, propping herself up on one elbow. "I had a message from Christian, and something he said made me think."

Roarke nodded. "I see," he said. "In that case, perhaps you'll truly communicate with him now, rather than simply brushing him off."

Leslie felt herself turn red. "Has he been talking to you too?"

"He has mentioned in passing that you've been quite cool to him, sending him the shortest messages possible," Roarke said. "My only counsel to him was to have patience. But the time is overdue for you to forgive him his oversight in not telling you about that marriage contract, my child. I suspect he felt that, once he presented his brother with the fact of his engagement to you, King Arnulf would back down and allow him his wishes in the matter, and he would never have to mention the contract. Unfortunately, he didn't know that it was, quite literally, a matter of life and death to Arnulf."

"Yeah," Leslie murmured. "I see what you mean." She looked up and smiled at him, a little sadly. "But things are going to change now. I'll write him back in the morning—I mean, really write to him."

"Good," said Roarke warmly. "Sleep well, Leslie." She smiled, settled back down and closed her eyes as he turned out the light and retreated to his own room. As always, somehow he had managed to ease her worries enough that she fell asleep quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- September 15, 1996

"I can't believe none of them actually offered us a contract," Brooke was complaining over her ham and eggs. "We must have talked to four or five scouts, and all they did was beat around the bush and toss off overbaked compliments."

"Well, there was that one," Shara pointed out hopefully, nibbling on a slice of toast—the only thing she had fixed for her breakfast. "Calvin Dill from Goliath Records?"

Joy made a noise of revulsion. "Oh, him. I didn't like him. He struck me as smarmy."

"Yeah," Cyndy agreed, spreading jam on an English muffin. "He looked like one of those types who has a casting couch…or whatever the recording-industry equivalent is." The women laughed quietly.

"Well," Daphne said, "they'll probably be at one or another of our shows at the amusement park today. Maybe they just want a second opinion—see if we're consistent, if we can perform reliably instead of presenting them with a fluke."

Brooke shrugged. "I suppose that makes some sense," she said reluctantly. "But I thought we were supposed to be having a fantasy granted, so I was counting on at least one or two of them offering a contract."

"True," Daphne said, sighing. "I gotta admit, it would've been nice."

Joy looked around at their faces and pointed out, "Look, guys, Mr. Roarke can't make those guys think. He can make sure they see us, and he might even put in a good word or two, but the decision about contract offers is up to them, not him. He can't sway them. Our performances are supposed to do that."

"Well, I thought that's what we did!" Brooke protested. "Why is it everyone back home loves us, but leave Washington state and nobody gives half a hoot?"

"Because they see hundreds of aspiring musical acts a day, most likely," replied Cyndy with a shrug, taking a bite of her muffin and talking around it. "We think we stand out, but we probably don't. Not to them at least." She stopped chewing at Brooke's and Shara's downcast faces and at Joy's and Daphne's resigned expressions. "Listen, there was only so much room in the supper club anyway. The audience was great for both shows, but I think there was a maximum of fifty people per show. At the park there'll be space for loads more people. If they like us as much as the supper-club crowd did, then it might suggest to one or two of these scouts that there may be a substantial audience for our material, and they'll be more willing to take a chance on signing us. Make sense?"

Joy smiled. "Yeah, it does. Thanks, Cyn, I didn't think about it like that. So what say, guys? More optimism for today's shows?"

"You got it," Shara said brightly, dusting toast crumbs off her hands. "I'm gonna go and get dressed. Be back in a few." She got up and flitted off to one of the bedrooms.

"I just hope, if any of them do decide to take a chance, that Calvin Dill isn't one of them," Joy went on. "There's something about him that makes me think he's not always aboveboard in dealing with clients, you know? A shady character with shifty eyes and all those other clichés." They laughed.

"For sure," Brooke said. "Okay, I guess it's agreed that we turn down Dill if he makes an offer. On the other hand, I don't think we should jump at the first offer we get, either. We should hold out for at least two, so we can compare them against each other and see which one has the better benefits."

Their conversation had gone on for another ten minutes before Shara finally returned to the table. "Did I miss anything?" she asked cheerfully.

"Half the conversation, naturally," Joy said, rolling her eyes. "What took you so long?"

"I couldn't find my favorite shorts," Shara said, pulling out her chair. At that moment there was a knock on the door and she changed direction. "I'll get it."

It turned out to be Roarke; the women greeted him in chorus and he nodded. "Good morning, ladies," he replied, courteous but grave, before turning to Shara. "Miss Foster, I am afraid I must ask you to accompany me to police headquarters."

Shara's face drained of all color, so suddenly and thoroughly that her sisters and cousin saw it plainly from the table and looked at one another, then oddly at Shara. "What…what's the problem, Mr. Roarke?" Shara asked in a high, hesitant voice.

Roarke, too, saw her blanch, but didn't mention it. "A young man by the name of Howard Helms was arrested last evening in town," he explained. "He was caught red-handed in an attempt to sell narcotics. When he was taken in, he mentioned your name—specifically, that you know him and would vouch for him."

"Oh," Shara said faintly, clearing her throat.

"Howie was here on the island after all?" exclaimed Daphne, amazed. "I was just kidding around about him last evening. Geez, talk about lucky guesses."

"Sure sounds like he came to the proverbial bad end," Brooke commented, shaking her head and pouring herself some more orange juice. "Be careful, sis."

"Miss Foster?" Roarke prompted gently.

Shara nodded so quickly it looked more like a shudder. "S-sure, Mr. Roarke, I'll come along. Do I have to testify against him or something?"

"The police merely wish to take a statement from you, since Mr. Helms brought up his acquaintance with you," Roarke said reassuringly. "Nothing to worry about."

Shara sagged visibly with relief. "I see," she said, exhaling loudly. "Okay, sure, lead the way, Mr. Roarke." She trailed him out, pulling the door shut after her.

"Old Howie," Daphne marveled. "Who'd ever have thought."

"A drug-selling geek," Cyndy agreed and laughed. "I'm sure Shara'll fix him in no time flat. She never did like him anyway."

Joy chuckled, sounding subdued. "Yeah, just last night she told him to get lost…for probably the four thousandth time or so." They all laughed again, but she frowned at her French toast, feeling her intuition poking her again and wondering why.

The drive to police headquarters in Amberville took only a few minutes. When Roarke and Shara came in, Howie Helms leaped to his feet and curled his fists around the bars of his jail cell, staring desperately at her. She carefully avoided his eyes and stood quietly beside Roarke at the sheriff's desk.

Clark Mokuleia nodded a solemn greeting to Roarke and Shara, focusing on her. "Mr. Helms claims you and he know each other, miss," he said questioningly.

Shara finally looked at Howie, scowled heavily at him and narrowed her eyes. "I used to know him in high school," she said, "but he's no friend of mine."

"Come on, Shara, don't give me that!" Howie yelled frantically. "We been associating since graduation, remember? We're pals…buddies…chums…"

"We were classmates, not friends," Shara announced with a slight quiver in her voice. She looked at Sheriff Mokuleia now. "He hasn't changed very much, but I haven't seen him since we graduated ten years ago."

"Shara, you turncoat," Howie shouted, voice a mixture of rage and fear. "I can tell 'em everything. I been supplying you since—"

"You'll just implicate yourself, Helms," Sheriff Mokuleia warned him. "The lady says she doesn't know you now, and you're the one who's in trouble, remember. It's your word against hers, and right now, yours can't be said to be very trustworthy."

"I'm telling you…" Howie protested, but they ignored him. Shara stared at some point on the wall opposite her, refusing to meet anyone's gaze; there was a stiff nervousness about her that insisted to Roarke that she was lying. But there was no proof.

"Very well, sheriff, thank you…and thank you, Miss Foster," he said quietly.

"Sure thing, Mr. Roarke. Miss Foster, sorry to bother you, and thanks for your time," Sheriff Mokuleia said pleasantly.

Shara's smile was huge. "Any time, sheriff," she said and started out, even ahead of Roarke. Roarke gave the sheriff a farewell nod and departed with her, frowning slightly. The young woman clearly had a secret, and he had strong suspicions of his own. If he was any accurate judge, Shara Foster's fragile web would come unwoven soon enough.

‡ ‡ ‡

Alone in the main house to take care of some paperwork and listen for the phone, Leslie printed out a stack of letters for hopeful fantasizers, then scrolled through the business e-mail without finding anything urgent. She made a quick check of her own e-mail then; the only message was Christian's from last night. She cleared her throat, smiled a little and clicked on the reply button.

Dearest Christian,

I feel like a fool. I was so blinded by what looked like a betrayal on your part that I didn't think things through, till last night when Father told me you'd been communicating with him a little. It was Arnulf's doing, not yours, and it's taken me all this time to realize that. You're even more trapped than I am, stuck in a marriage of convenience. Arnulf's convenience, of course! Do you remember my telling you that I saw Arnulf's excruciating press conference? I asked Father about that this morning over breakfast, and he told me he had seen things I missed due to my emotional state at the time. Your grim, rigid control, Marina's calm and quiet acceptance, and Arnulf's sense of triumph. Father's good at seeing this kind of stuff anyway, but to notice it through a TV screen...obviously all those emotions stood out like a mouse in a cattery.

I'm so sorry, Christian. I've been clinging to my own hurt without thinking of yours. Yes, I did tell Marina I would wait for you, and I will. You can count on that, my love.

It's been a fairly quiet weekend so far, and the fantasies are nothing unusual. However, we did have an arrest last night – a small-time drug dealer from Washington in the US. He claimed he knew one of the fantasizers, a member of an aspiring singing group looking for fame and fortune. They're four sisters and their cousin, and they all seem so nice and friendly. I can't imagine why that guy would try to implicate one of them. I guess some people will do anything to get themselves out of hot water, including smearing the innocent names of others.

I have to go now, but I promise I'll look for your next message when I have a chance and reply quickly. I didn't lie the night of the wedding reception, Christian. I love you more than there are words to say. Be safe, my love.

Yours always, Leslie

She read it over, smiled again and drew in a deep breath, then clicked the send button. "There," she said softly, and to her surprise felt lighter, happier. She examined the feeling for a moment, then laughed to herself. _Father was right again. When has he ever _not_ been right? All these years on this island and you still haven't figured that out!_ Shaking her head with self-deprecating amusement, she signed out of her e-mail account and closed the electronic window, then made her way to the desk and thumbed through a stack of new mail that had arrived the day before.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- September 15, 1996

The group's first show went off perfectly and met with a wonderful, and very loud, reception from a large audience—the largest the Foster Sisters had ever had. Riding quite high on the cheers and applause, the sisters and Cyndy convened backstage, excitedly chattering away their lingering adrenaline, laughing and hugging ecstatically. "This is such a great sign!" Brooke exulted. "If there were agents in the crowd, they had to get the message that lots of people would like our stuff!"

"We still have three more shows to prove ourselves," Joy reminded her. "That'll just help drive the message further home. Don't we get new costumes for the second show?"

"Yeah, the manager mentioned it," Daphne said. "Let me go double-check with him." She scuttled off, and the others scattered to freshen up. Within ten minutes Daphne was back with their fresh costumes; her cousin and sisters had all showered by then and she took her turn while the others dressed. When she came out, she found them talking about the audience that was already gathering for the second performance.

"I see a couple of the guys that were at the ten-o'clock show last night," cried Brooke, who was peeking through a tiny gap she'd made between the closed curtains and trying to keep her pregnant midsection from poking through it. "They must have gotten some kind of word of mouth and decided to check us out again!"

"Fabulous!" Shara exclaimed. "Who are they?"

"Oh no," Brooke said suddenly and drew back inside, making a face. "That Calvin Dill just showed up. I wish it were possible to forbid him from coming to our shows."

Shara peered at her curiously. "Come on, Brooke, he wasn't that bad."

"I thought he was," Joy backed her sister up. "I told you before, he struck me as this oily, shady type. I mean, he looks legit and all, and maybe he really is. But there's just something about the guy that spooks me."

"Not just you, cousin," Cyndy put in, clipping a rhinestone tennis bracelet around her wrist. "I got the same impression. Don't tell me you didn't notice, Shara."

"He offered us a really lucrative contract for five years and four albums," Shara pointed out, "and the pay was excellent. Lots of publicity, anything he could possibly do to get our career off the ground. How can you argue with that?"

"It's too good to be true," Joy insisted. "That kind of stuff raises a lot of red flags with me. Maybe you just think my intuition is overly sensitive, but Cyndy just said she had the same impression, and she doesn't get all suspicious like I do."

Daphne nodded, surprising Shara; the youngest sister was the happy-go-lucky one, with an eternally optimistic outlook on everything. "I'm with them, Shara. He looked at me kind of like he would've liked to get me on that casting couch Cyndy mentioned this morning." That generated nervous giggles from the others.

Shara shrugged. "Well, whatever. I just don't think we should dismiss that great opportunity he dangled at us. But okay, I'll go along with you and give the other ones a chance to decide if they want to sign us on."

Their second show was as well-received as the first; but late in the performance, with two more songs to sing, Shara felt her energy flagging. _Uh-oh. Soon as this is over, gotta get back to my dressing room and take another hit. Funny, one dose used to get me through a whole day; now it takes two. Well, I just gotta hang in there._

She took her bows about ten minutes later with her sisters and cousin, then rushed back to her dressing room without a word to them, unheeding of the perplexed, annoyed glares they aimed at her. Slamming the door, she zeroed in on the worn, fraying duffel she always lugged around with her and began to poke through it.

Her search dragged out as she failed to find her objective, and frantically Shara began to pull out other items and toss them over her shoulder in a desperate hunt. Finally she had emptied the bag, and all she had come up with was the syringe she used to inject herself. She stared in disbelief at the dark residue inside its barrel, then peered into the bag itself, even lifted it and turned it upside down. But nothing fell out: it was completely empty, and she hadn't overlooked anything.

"Oh, damn," Shara whispered in despair, beginning to realize what must have happened. Howie had come sniveling around back last night after their late show, telling her he was completely out of her usual supply and trying to assure her he'd get more as soon as he got hold of his contact. She'd exploded at him, telling him she had to have it or she'd start going crazy from withdrawal. He knew the symptoms: he'd seen them in her once a few years ago and given her an emergency dose in order to arrest their progress. She hadn't questioned him then, and not since, even though she had no idea where he got the stuff. But now he didn't have any more—and neither did she!

"And the symptoms are starting already," she breathed aloud, lifting one hand and watching it tremble just perceptibly. She tried to still it, but it merely exacerbated the shaking. How could she have run out so quickly? She had calculated her doses to be sure she had enough for her stay on Fantasy Island, yet… Then she moaned and squeezed her eyes shut. Just a little bit ago, on stage, she'd reflected that now it took two doses to get her through a day. When she'd packed for this trip, she hadn't taken that into account, and here she was, out of the drug and unable to get any more.

Her secret was going to come out unless she could think of some way to get more, because her symptoms would worsen as time slipped by and it would be impossible for her to control her reactions. Maybe she could go and ask Howie about his contact…no, that was too risky, especially after she'd stated to both the sheriff and Mr. Roarke that she hadn't seen Howie since high school. So much for trying to disassociate herself. She knew the drug was quite rare and almost prohibitively expensive; but it was the only thing that kept her going, made her capable of living the hectic life of a performer. It gave her more energy than she had ever dreamed of having; she didn't need as much sleep each night; and it stunted her appetite, so that she had lost weight over time and looked really good in all the form-fitting costumes she and the others wore onstage. She had to get more of it before Joy, Cyndy, Brooke and Daphne saw her in withdrawal and guessed her secret…but how?

"Lunchtime, Shara," she heard Joy's voice call through the door. "Come on and eat."

"Be right there," Shara called back, trying to keep the budding panic out of her voice. For the moment, she felt reasonably normal, just drained. Maybe having a good meal would help replace some of that energy. She changed into street clothes, all the while reassuring herself that food would help fill the gap till she could get what she really needed.

It did help for a little while. She ate a more substantial meal than she had in quite some time, which gained her the approval of Daphne and Cyndy, a joking inquiry from Brooke as to whether she too was expecting a baby, and a strange look from Joy. Joy had always been the cautious, suspicious one, Shara recalled uneasily, hiding her disquiet and signaling their waiter for another drink. The one she'd just finished had miraculously stilled her trembling hands, and the food did seem to boost her sagging energy, though she knew deep inside that it was a very temporary, and inadequate, substitute. Her apprehension over her precarious condition caused her to meet Joy's odd look with an overdone glare. "You got a problem with me enjoying my lunch?"

Joy blinked, surprised. "No…I just haven't seen you eat like that in ages, that's all." She lifted her hands at Shara's narrow-eyed look. "Hey, don't get me wrong, I think it's great, after months of toast-slice breakfasts and excuses about watching your weight. I'm just wondering why the sudden turnaround."

"I was hungry," Shara said in a tone that dared her to argue. Joy shrugged and subsided, still perplexed but no longer asking questions.

Shara's temporary fix began to fail her just before the end of their third show; it was now all she could do to force herself to look normal on the way back to her dressing room. There was no quieting the shaking now, and it wasn't just her hands; her arms quivered, and her legs felt wobbly and unstable. She collapsed into the chair in her tiny dressing room, fighting back her panic. Picking up the syringe, she examined the remains of her last dose inside the barrel and had an idea. Removing the end with the needle, she licked her index finger and swiped it around the interior of the barrel, collecting the dried dregs. She was desperate enough to hope it would get her through their final show of the weekend, although after that— _Don't think about it, _she warned herself fiercely._ Just get through the last concert, then you can worry about what happens afterwards. Right now…_ Shara drew in a deep breath and stuck her finger in her mouth, sucking off every trace of substance she had picked up. Two seconds later she gasped, dropped the barrel, and shakily poured herself a glass of water. It felt as if she'd eaten a lit match. _What drug acts like a jalapeño pepper, for crying out loud?_ she wondered, draining the glass nonstop. _Oh man…_ But she felt her creeping lethargy slow slightly, and after a moment even the fiery sensation in her mouth subsided. It wasn't much, but it was all she had.

Then there was a knock on her door, and she froze. "Yeah?"

"Miss Foster? It's Calvin Dill from Goliath Records. Can we talk?"

"Oh…s-sure, Mr. Dill, come on in, it's unlocked," Shara said. The door opened and he stepped inside, glancing around the messy dressing room and smiling indulgently. Shara felt her face redden. "Sorry about the disaster area."

Dill chuckled. "No problem." He spied something on the floor and eyed it curiously; Shara followed his gaze and was horrified to realize she had forgotten to hide the components of the syringe. "Diabetes?" he asked.

It took Shara a moment to follow his meaning. "Oh…uh, well…" she stuttered.

He picked up the barrel, rotated it once in his hand before offering it to her. She took it, realizing she had missed a few flecks of residue after all. She looked hesitantly up at him and was startled to see his knowing smile. "Black lightning, huh?" he said.

She gasped. "How'd y'know?" Already she was losing coherency.

Dill shrugged easily. "Mind if I sit down?" He took the only chair without waiting for her reply. "You looked a little worn down during that last show, to begin with. And anyone who knows anything about recreational drugs knows black lightning. It's the only one out there that leaves that color residue." He studied her. "Expensive habit," he remarked after a moment or two. "But I can help you get all you need and then some."

Shara bit her lip. "Well…" Why couldn't she think?

Dill raised one hand. "Look," he said, "that was your last dose, and your supplier's out, isn't he?" He smiled lazily. "I know all about your habit and how you get the stuff, Miss Foster. I'm the source your friend Howie gets his supply from. Since the little bumbler managed to get himself arrested earlier, that means you're cut off. And I know you're out of it now, because if you weren't, you wouldn't be desperate enough to clean the dregs out of the syringe barrel and swallow it. Any experienced user knows black lightning has a kick worse than Tabasco sauce if it's taken orally."

"Know it now," muttered Shara. Her legs gave out at last and she sank to the floor.

Dill chuckled. "I bet you do. I've seen what users do when they're out and they can't get more right away. Normally they know better than to do that, but when they're going through withdrawal, their thinking gets clouded up and they lose the ability to reason rationally. Look at you now."

Shara stared blearily at him. On some fuzzy level she realized he was right; but her need for the drug had taken over, and increasingly it was becoming the sole object of her focus. "I need more," she mumbled. The meager effect of the concentrated dregs had already worn off, leaving her drained and dazed.

"I've got it," Dill said soothingly. "Right here. All you need."

Shara gazed at him with an empty look that carried a tiny, feverish gleam of need. "My money…back in the bun…bun-glow…" she slurred.

Dill shook his head and withdrew a package from his inside jacket pocket. "Don't worry about the money, sweets. You can pay me by talking your sisters into signing a contract with Goliath Records, okay? Here." Expertly he filled her syringe all the way to the top, reattached the needle and handed it to her. Shara reached for it with the greedy haste of a drowning diver going for the hose to a scuba tank and blindly injected the entire contents of the syringe into her arm, without really seeing it. And all the while Calvin Dill sat and watched her, a small smile on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- September 15, 1996

Someone knocked on the door and both Roarke and Leslie looked up. "Come in," Roarke called out, and the door opened and Michiko came in, along with her stepdaughter, Adriana, now fifteen. "Good afternoon, Your Highnesses!"

"Hello, Mr. Roarke, Miss Leslie," Adriana said a little shyly.

Michiko grinned. "Hi, Mr. Roarke, Leslie…you two look busy."

"Just paperwork," Leslie said, turning from the computer where she had been responding to business e-mail. "What's up?"

"Are you free this evening for the last Foster Sisters concert at the amusement park?" Michiko asked. "Errico decided to take Paolono and Marcolo on a fishing excursion, and of course, Adriana had no interest in that. I thought she and I could attend the concert, and if you two would like a break from routine, you could come as well."

"They really are great, Father," Leslie said. "We all enjoyed last evening's first show."

"It appears our guests have received quite a few ringing endorsements this weekend," Roarke observed with a grin. "As a matter of fact, I myself have heard them only on tape, so it would be a treat to hear them sing live. Very well, Leslie and I will accompany you to the park. Perhaps by now they have decided on a recording company."

Michiko's eyebrows popped up. "Recording company? Are there scouts out there who are interested in them? I wouldn't be surprised. They impressed me very much."

"It's their fantasy," Leslie said. "I've been given to understand that all the amusement-park concerts have been sold out—they could probably have performed two more shows. It might be a good excuse to see them backstage before they go on, and find out how the fantasy's been progressing."

"A good idea, Leslie," Roarke said. "What time does the show begin?"

"It starts at five," Michiko said. "If you need to, there's plenty of time to wrap up the most important things here before you come out—it's not even four yet."

"Very well," Roarke agreed. "Thank you for the invitation, Michiko, and we will see you back here at four-thirty, if that's all right with you."

"It would be perfect," Adriana interjected and looked up at Michiko. "That means you and I would have time to get pedicures, _Madi_, and spend some time away from the boys."

Michiko laughed. "All right, you talked me into it. See you at four-thirty." She and Adriana departed, and Leslie giggled, turning back to the computer.

"It'll be interesting to see what happens in that fantasy," she observed offhandedly, deleting a few messages and opening another. "The only possible problem I can think of them having is deciding what record company to sign a contract with."

"Oh, there's more to this fantasy than meets the eye, my child," Roarke said in that mysterious voice he sometimes employed when he knew more than anyone else about a particular fantasy, even the fantasizer. She looked curiously at him, then shrugged when he said nothing and returned to the e-mails. She had earlier checked her own account and replied to a message from Christian, who had dispatched a very long e-mail expressing his great joy and relief over her willingness to really talk to him at last. Leslie didn't expect a reply from him for some time yet, since it was the dead of night on Lilla Jordsö at the moment.

"How is Christian?" Roarke asked suddenly.

"I wish you'd stop reading my mind," Leslie complained teasingly, but he just grinned at her. Grinning back, she relented. "He's doing fine, I think. At least, he seemed pretty happy that I'm saying more than just 'hi, I'm fine, thanks for writing'."

"I should think so," Roarke agreed. "Do you think your wait for him will be more bearable, since you two are now in full communication?"

Leslie shrugged, a small gray cloud forming over her head for a moment. "Well, I don't know. I'd like to think so. It'll keep us from becoming total strangers to each other while we're still apart, but at the same time, it always kicks up a yearning in me." She looked at Roarke wistfully. "It's really the strangest thing, Father. I never had this kind of longing for any other man—not even Teppo."

"You were never really separated from Teppo until he died," Roarke said, "and there was no reason for you to miss him."

"No," Leslie said slowly, "but…before the wedding, I didn't have this—this _need_ for Teppo when he and I weren't together, you know what I mean? I think my love for Christian is different from my love for Teppo in a lot of ways."

"Because, of course, Teppo and Christian are two different men," Roarke said. "Love is rarely, if ever, the same twice, sweetheart, and even love between the same two people will change over time. Did you feel precisely the same way about Teppo on your fifth wedding anniversary as you did the day you were married to him?"

She thought about it, frowning in contemplation. "No, I didn't, come to think of it," she mused after some time. "I felt comfortable around him, and I did still love him very much…but it wasn't the same sort of heady excitement I had when we got married." Leslie focused on him with surprise in her eyes. "You know, I never really thought about it. I wonder if it means anything?"

"Only time will answer that question," Roarke said, smiling. "Well, suppose we finish what's left here, and then we can check on Mr. Charlimansky's fantasy quickly before we get ready to attend the concert."

They met Michiko and Adriana in front of the main house at four-thirty as arranged, and Roarke drove them to the amusement park, located nearly all the way across the island in view of the South Pacific and a grassy clearing atop an outcrop, where at one time a hot-air balloon had dropped off children looking to have fantasies granted. There was a little less than ten minutes remaining before showtime when they arrived, so that their wait was reduced to a bare few minutes by the time they found a place to sit and watch.

"Your own amusement park," Adriana said in awe, gazing around her at the assorted rides that were visible from their seats. "What a wonderful thing! I've been asking _Papi_ and _Grendé-Papi_ about having one at home." She employed the Arcolosian terms for her father and grandfather. "Do you know there isn't one on all of Arcolos?"

"Really!" said Roarke. Leslie and Michiko grinned at the young princess.

"You sound scandalized," Leslie teased her.

"Well, it _is_ a scandal!" Adriana insisted. "I asked _Papi_ how in the world we could expect the children of our tourists to have any fun on a trip to Arcolos without at least one amusement park somewhere. But I think _Papi_ just thinks it's funny."

"He and _Grendé-Papi_ have a lot of things on their minds, honey," Michiko said. "When some of the other problems have been solved, you might bring it up again. I promise we'll bring you and your brothers here before we go back home."

At this point there was a fanfare and the chatting audience quieted, turning expectantly towards the stage. After a moment or two the curtains parted to reveal the Foster Sisters, who wasted no time in launching into their first song. All five were strong of voice, full of energy and clearly having a wonderful time; their cheer was infectious and soon the audience was clapping along to the faster songs. Shara and Daphne even danced their way through a couple of tunes, inspiring quite a few folks in the front rows to get up and follow suit. It was a fast-paced show filled with fun, and everyone was enjoying themselves to the hilt; Michiko, Adriana and Leslie were clapping, singing occasionally with cover songs they knew, and even Roarke tapped his foot to the livelier songs.

In the middle of the seventh song, Shara Foster's voice disappeared from the lineup, creating an audible hole in the lush harmony, and she dropped her microphone before tumbling in a lax heap to the floor. Brooke Foster shrieked; the singing halted abruptly and the entire audience gasped, most rising all at one time. Roarke, Leslie, Michiko and Adriana were among them. "_Madi,_ what happened?" Adriana cried.

"I don't know!" Michiko exclaimed. "Leslie?"

"Father…" Leslie began, but he had already started for the stage. She tossed a quick smile of reassurance at Michiko and Adriana and hurried after him, hard on his heels. By now Brooke, Cyndy, Joy and Daphne were in a panic; just as Roarke and Leslie gained the stage, the curtains rushed closed and the two hosts ducked hastily out of the way so that they were behind the curtain with the singers.

Roarke knelt beside the unconscious Shara and felt for a pulse as the young woman's terrified bandmates gathered around; he looked up and said, "She needs an ambulance immediately. She has a pulse, but it's weak and thready."

The pavilion manager had come out in time to hear this. "I'll take care of it, Mr. Roarke," he said and fled backstage.

"What happened?" Roarke asked.

"No clue," Cyndy said helplessly. "I gotta tell you, though, Mr. Roarke, Shara's been really weird all day. She looked a little run-down after our last show, but she seemed okay. Then she came out and ate a huge lunch—more food than we've seen her eat at one sitting in at least a year. She usually has a slice of toast for breakfast and otherwise lives on all kinds of different salads, and that's it. But today she had some of everything there was to offer and even went back for seconds."

"Then she came out for this show and she was so hyper, she couldn't stand still," put in Brooke. "I mean, literally—she was rocking from one foot to the other, bouncing up and down on her toes, all but running in place. She seemed to have energy to burn. Now, all of a sudden, she goes and faints on us. Do you think it's anorexia?"

"What if she turns into another Karen Carpenter?" Daphne gasped.

Roarke frowned. "I don't believe that's her problem," he said, "but we won't know until the hospital staff has had a chance to examine and evaluate her."

A few minutes later, park paramedics barreled onstage with a stretcher and other equipment, and they busied themselves getting Shara ready for the trip to the hospital and recording her vital signs and condition. Within five minutes they were on their way, and Roarke offered the others a ride back.

Joy scowled. "I think there's more to this than just a dead faint," she said. "I'll stay here, Mr. Roarke, and go through her stuff to see if we can find something." She looked at Leslie. "Will you help me?"

"All right," Leslie agreed. "I'll bring her back in one of the jeeps from the park, Father, along with Michiko and Adriana."

"Good," Roarke agreed. "If you find anything, bring it with you." He made his way out with Brooke, Cyndy and Daphne. Joy led the way backstage and flung open the door to Shara's dressing room, then winced at the mess within. "Oh geez…"

Leslie peered past her. "I see what you mean. We'll be lucky to find anything."

"I know." Joy sighed heavily. "But we have to try. Shara totes an ancient yellow nylon duffel bag with her to every show. You look for that, and I'll check the pockets in her clothes here."

The two women began their search, but after ten minutes Joy had turned out every pocket in every article of clothing on the floor to no avail, and Leslie had unearthed the duffel only to find it empty. "Damn," Joy murmured, sounding on the verge of tears. "I really thought we'd find the answer to this mystery in here."

Leslie turned the bag over and over in her hands, then frowned in surprise when she saw a tiny zippered pocket at one end of the interior. "What's this?" she mumbled to herself and unzipped it, poking around within and coming up with a syringe. She blinked, felt her heart sink, and swallowed hard for composure before turning to Joy. "I have bad news." At Joy's questioning look, she held up the syringe.

Joy's face paled. "Oh my God," she breathed.

Leslie nodded in silent sympathy, studying the syringe. There were only a few drops of water clinging to the inside of the barrel, as if someone had taken care to wash it out before hiding it in the duffel. "It doesn't look as if we can find out what Shara took, but this is the only clue we have." She focused on Joy and dropped the duffel into the chair. "I came here with a friend of mine and her stepdaughter. Let me get them, and then we'll head for the hospital so they can try to determine what might have been in this thing."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- September 15, 1996

Leslie made her way through the dispersing audience to where Michiko still sat with Adriana; they looked relieved to see her coming. "I'll take you two back with us," she said. "Joy Foster and I looked through her sister's dressing room and found something we need to give to the doctors, so we'll drop you off at Julie's B&B on our way there."

"Will she be all right?" Adriana asked fearfully. "I really like this group and I'd hate to see one of them die."

"We're hoping so, Adriana," Leslie said and smiled at the girl. "Come on, we have to hurry." She started back to the stage with Michiko and Adriana in her wake, and a few minutes later they were all in a jeep on the way back to the eastern end of the island. Joy, of course, recognized Michiko and gaped at her.

"I…were you watching the show?" Joy asked, stunned.

Michiko nodded and smiled sympathetically. "Yes, and I think your group has a wonderful talent. Right now you need to focus on your sister, and you have our fervent wishes for a speedy and successful recovery for her."

Joy smiled tremulously. "Thank you," she murmured. After that the conversation fell by the wayside; Leslie concentrated on the road, driving as fast as she dared, relieved that automobile traffic on the island was still all but nonexistent. On two or three occasions she caught bikers in her headlights and urgently punched the horn to warn them out of the way, but other than that they had clear roads all the way back. After leaving Michiko and Adriana at the B&B, Leslie rushed herself and Joy to the hospital, leading the way in at a run with Joy nearly stepping on her heels.

They found Roarke with Brooke, Daphne and Cyndy in the waiting area; the three women leaped to their feet when Joy and Leslie appeared. "Anything?" Cyndy asked.

Joy pulled out the syringe Leslie had given her. "We found this," she said grimly.

Daphne gaped at it as if she had never seen such a thing before, and then gawked at her sisters and cousin with stricken eyes. "Shara's hooked on drugs?" she squeaked in a voice that wobbled with disbelieving tears.

"Looks like it." Joy patted Daphne's shoulder and handed Roarke the syringe, which he examined critically at close range. "Do you think they'll find anything in that, Mr. Roarke?" she asked hopefully.

"It doesn't look too likely," Leslie interjected. "I think that's just water inside."

"You appear to be correct, Leslie," Roarke agreed gravely. "However, this should be turned over to the staff in any case. Perhaps they can find something we aren't able to."

They waited for two hours before Shara's attending doctor came out and shook his head. "I'm afraid we couldn't get anything from the syringe," he said quietly, his voice heavy with foreboding. "I'm sorry."

"Don't you know what she took?" Joy asked, aghast. "You must've taken blood from Shara when she got here…"

"Whatever it was, either it dissipated quickly from her bloodstream or our equipment isn't sophisticated enough to detect it," the doctor said. He scrubbed a hand down his face, looking weary with frustration and urgency. "All I can tell you is, unless a miracle happens and we find out what she took, she stands a large chance of dying." He sighed and shook his head; Shara's sisters and cousin gaped in horror at one another, and Roarke and Leslie looked at each other in grim silence.

"What _did_ you find in her blood, though?" Daphne demanded suddenly.

"Nothing much out of the ordinary," the doctor said. "The only aberration was a slight case of anemia, which we're trying to treat now, but…" He broke off and shook his head. "If any of you has even the smallest clue as to what she might have been taking—that is, did you ever happen to see her injecting the drug?"

"We didn't even know she was hooked!" Brooke burst out in frustration. "She did such a great job of hiding her addiction from us, we had no idea she was even using. What sort of drug could have the kind of characteristics that prevent medicine from finding out what it was?" She turned to Roarke and Leslie. "Every time you hear about this kind of thing, the drug always leaves some trace in the bloodstream or somewhere, so that it's clear what the user overdosed on and something can be done to counteract it. How on earth could Shara have found a drug that acts like this one does?"

"We'll keep trying to find something to halt Miss Foster's decline," the doctor said, "but unless we find out what she took, we can only prolong her life by degrees. If you can think of anything that might help, please let us know as soon as you come up with it." He left the waiting area, and the Fosters and Cyndy stared bleakly at one another.

Joy sighed deeply, as if all hope had leaked out of her. "There's not much reason for you to stay, Mr. Roarke and Leslie," she said limply. "You should go on home."

Roarke frowned but arose. "Unfortunately, I do have other things that need my attention," he said, "but Leslie will be at the main house if you have any news. She will get word to me in that case. But in the meantime, consider the doctor's request and try to think back on anything unusual you may have noticed about Shara of late."

"We're racking our brains as you speak, Mr. Roarke," Cyndy assured him.

"Good," Roarke said and smiled faintly, nodding. "Don't give up hope. There may yet be an answer." He paused long enough to aim the smile at each sister in turn before nodding. "Please excuse us. Leslie?"

Outside, Roarke and Leslie exchanged keys. "If you hear nothing, Leslie," he said, "you may as well retire early. Otherwise, you know how to reach me."

"Got it, Father," she said. "Should I see about Mr. Charlimansky?"

"I believe he was pursuing a…'hot lead'," said Roarke with some amusement. "It seems he is handling his fantasy admirably. Unless he comes to the office and specifically requests your assistance, you can set aside any worries about that. Just take any messages and be ready to handle anything that may suddenly come up. I must hurry."

She tipped forward and kissed his cheek unexpectedly. "Be careful, Father," she said. He smiled at her and brushed back her hair before turning and going to the jeep in which she and Joy had arrived; Leslie watched it disappear down the Ring Road before taking the station wagon back to the main house.

She was surprised to note that the grandfather clock showed past nine; she'd had no idea they'd been waiting so long. There was nothing on the answering machine, and no pressing paperwork; so she went to the computer and idly checked her e-mail, sitting up in surprise to find no fewer than three messages from Christian. The first one was a cheery reply to her last missive; the second wondered if she was unusually busy. The third sounded a little frantic, she thought, reading it over with a grin. _"Where are you, Leslie Rose? I know it isn't so late on your side of our little planet. I hoped to chat a bit with you before you go to sleep tonight. Please answer. I love you."_

Leslie chuckled. "Poor Christian," she murmured and clicked on the reply button to compose her response to him.

Hi, my love...

I'm sorry I didn't reply till now. We had an urgent situation here. Remember the singing group I mentioned before? It turns out that one of the sisters overdosed on some mysterious drug and is now in the hospital. Unfortunately, the doctors can't figure out what she took. Apparently the drug leaves no trace in the system, even though we had her at the hospital within half an hour of her collapse. The doctors are completely stymied, and her sisters and cousin are frantic, trying to come up with some clue that might help her. There wasn't anything we could do at the moment, so they let Father and me go. He's out making rounds, and I'm here holding down the fort till he gets back, or something happens, whichever comes first. I'll be up for some time yet, so we can have that chat you wanted. :)

Love, Leslie

She settled back in her chair and gazed out the French shutters, waiting patiently. After a moment she rose and headed for the kitchen to get some lemonade; when she came back, there was a reply from Christian. Its content surprised her greatly:

Leslie, my Rose,

I'm glad you're all right. I must say I was very startled and alarmed to read your account of the sister who overdosed. You didn't give much information, but what little you provided made me think of something. A drug that leaves no trace in the system within half an hour of ingestion? I can't remember where I heard of such a thing, but I know I have. Marina is here as well, and I can check with her if my hunch plays out. Tell me, my darling, what kind of symptoms your guest had, if you can. If either Marina or I can help, we will. Hurry!

All my love, Christian

Leslie stared at the message for a moment, then gnawed unconsciously on her lip as she rapidly typed out her reply, enumerating what Cyndy and Brooke had related having seen in Shara throughout the day as well as her habits over the last year or so. She hit the send button and waited tensely, staring at the screen and hoping against hope that Marina and Christian could provide the answers they needed so badly.

It was perhaps five minutes before his reply appeared in her e-mail in-box, but it felt like the longest five minutes she'd ever spent. She immediately opened the message.

Dearest Leslie,

I just spoke with Marina, and she knows exactly what your guest took. She tells me that the symptoms and characteristics of this addiction precisely match those of a drug called "black lightning". It is derived from amakarna; the properties that lessen one's need for sleep and increase one's energy and general well-being can be separated out and distilled into a fairly potent narcotic. It isn't well-known because of the rarity of amakarna, which also makes it quite expensive. But Marina knows of a lucrative trade in the drug. She won't explain how she knows; it seems to me as if she is hiding something, or trying to protect someone. In any case, an overdose is always fatal without the antidote.

Now the very bad news, my darling...Marina doesn't know what the antidote is. My only suggestion is that you tell Mr. Roarke immediately if you can. If anyone knows what to do, he will, I'm sure. Please let me know if we have been able to help. I will be here throughout the day, so I'll be waiting.

My love always, Christian

"Oh my God," Leslie whispered, barely audible even to herself. There was only one way to find Roarke. She seldom used the ability he'd long ago revealed to her of making quick appearances in and out of a fantasy; usually that was his domain. But this was an emergency, and she could only hope it would work. She typed and sent a quick thanks and acknowledgement to Christian before heading for the time-travel room.

Out of reflex Leslie always shut her eyes when she performed this little trick, so that when she opened them this time, she was surprised to see where she had ended up. It was a dirt lot fronting a seedy bar just outside the fishing village; a police jeep, lights flashing, sat beside Roarke's jeep, along with the green medical jeep belonging to Dr. Fernando Ordoñez. Two policemen, Roarke, and a small crowd of native villagers stood watching while Fernando bandaged the evidently broken ankle of an overweight young man who sat on the ground wincing and looking very embarrassed.

Roarke apparently sensed something because he looked around seconds after she got there and focused on her with some surprise. With a quick word to one of the cops, he came to her and asked, "Has something happened, Leslie?"

She nodded. "I was e-mailing Christian, and I told him a little about what happened to Shara Foster. Something about the symptoms struck a chord with him, and he conferred with Marina. They figured out what she overdosed on—something called black lightning. Christian said Marina told him it's distilled from amakarna."

Roarke's dark eyes widened with what appeared to be shock. "Black lightning," he breathed, as if stunned.


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- September 15, 1996

"Do you know about it?" Leslie exclaimed hopefully, seeing his obvious recognition. "Christian told me Marina doesn't know the antidote."

Roarke focused on her with a start and frowned heavily, eyes still wide. "Then we had better hurry," he said. "Come with me." She followed him back to the jeep.

"Don't you think we should just…" Leslie began.

He shushed her, urging her into the vehicle, then spoke again with the policemen before climbing behind the wheel and starting the engine. Not till they were speeding up the Ring Road did he speak. "Surely, Leslie Susan, you didn't have it in mind to return the same way you came, with such a large audience to see you do it?"

His unexpected levity made her laugh aloud. "Busted again, Father," she said playfully, delighted to get an answering laugh from him. It made them both feel a little more optimistic as they raced for the Fantasy Island Hospital.

Along the way Roarke made an abrupt detour into the Main House Lane and came to a skidding stop near the fountain, earning a shocked look from his daughter. "Forgive me," he said with the quickest and faintest of smiles, "but I'm sure you realize time is of the essence. Come in with me and wait in the study—I must get something from the cellar lab." He led the way in and vanished down the hallway to the northern wing of the house while Leslie waited nervously in the study. Fortunately it took just a minute or so for Roarke to return with a small vial which he handed to her. "Don't let go of this," he warned, already making for the door. She scurried after him with the little vial, now so curious she could barely refrain from asking questions.

Moments later, at the hospital, Roarke urgently insisted that the nurse at the admissions desk summon Shara's doctor; and when the man appeared, he quickly filled him in with the information Leslie had given him. The doctor was the only other person in the room who recognized the drug. "Black lightning!" he exclaimed. "How on earth did your guest get hold of that stuff? I'm sure you know how rare it is."

"More than you know, doctor," Roarke said grimly. "You must make up the antidote immediately."

"We don't have all the ingredients," the doctor protested. "I'm not even sure what proportions to mix them up in." He eyed Roarke and finally admitted, "You're going to have to help us, Mr. Roarke."

"Precisely why I am here," said Roarke quietly, "particularly since this vial contains an absolutely vital component of the antidote." He took the vial from Leslie. "Now, please."

"Come this way," the doctor said and spun on his heel, leading Roarke away through a door to the right of the admissions desk. Leslie, calculating the chances of her father's telling her anything about the antidote and the mysterious liquid in the vial, wandered over to join the other sisters and Cyndy, who had shot to their feet and listened intently the moment Roarke and Leslie arrived.

They mobbed her immediately. "What's that stuff Mr. Roarke took from you?" "Is Shara gonna be okay?" "How did you find out there's an antidote?" Leslie, startled out of her reverie, lifted her hands in surrender.

"Whoa, hold it!" she protested, and they backed down. "I'll tell you what I can, but I don't have all the answers."

"What drug did Mr. Roarke say Shara's been taking?" Joy demanded. "Black lightning? I never heard of the stuff. What is it?"

"It's distilled from a very rare spice that most people have also never heard of," Leslie said. "What it does is reduce the need for sleep and provide extra energy, and I expect it has certain side effects that I don't know about. Either the doctor or Father can tell you about that. The vial Father has contains an ingredient to the antidote—and please don't ask me what's in it, because I don't know."

"How'd you hear about the antidote?" Cyndy wanted to know.

Leslie hesitated, gathering her words before replying. "I know someone whose wife is familiar with the spice and what can be done with it. He and I were chatting and I mentioned we'd had an emergency with Shara, and he asked me what had happened. I told him about her symptoms, and he and his wife figured it out. But I had to get word to Father, since she didn't know what the antidote is."

"Then obviously Mr. Roarke's familiar with the spice too," Joy said.

Leslie could see she intended to grill Roarke later. "Don't worry about that right now. Just be glad he is. As for whether Shara'll be okay, we'll just have to wait and see. Why don't we all sit down and wait."

Now Joy, Cyndy, Brooke and Daphne fidgeted throughout their wait; Leslie picked up a magazine and went through it to keep from having to watch them pacing, twiddling their thumbs or jiggling their feet. It was nearly an hour before Roarke and the doctor came out; everyone stood up, and the doctor smiled wearily.

"The antidote worked," he said, to answering cheers of relief from Shara's sisters and cousin. "In fact, it worked so well that she's awake and talking, and she asked to see all of you, including Mr. Roarke and Miss Leslie."

Roarke and Leslie trailed their guests and the doctor to Shara's room; the young singer lay in her hospital bed with an IV still hooked to her arm, her face pale but her eyes open and her expression alert. "Hi, everyone," she said softly. She sounded weak but spoke clearly, and the other Fosters wilted with relief.

"They say you overdosed on black lightning," Joy said before anyone else could respond. "What in hell is that, and where'd you get it?"

"Howie Helms got it for me," Shara said, sighing deeply, looking resigned. "It started about three years ago when I felt worn out all the time from the constant shows we were putting on around the area. You know how he was anyway, always hanging around and trying to get my attention. He finally did when he told me he had something that would fix all my problems. He said it was rare and expensive, but he'd try to keep the price down for me since we knew each other. Even at that, it cost all my spare cash…it's eaten up all my savings already. But I had to have it."

"You idiot," Joy said savagely, her eyes filling with tears. "Shara, you dope. Why?"

"It worked," Shara said simply, her gaze sliding away. She focused on Roarke and Leslie in turns. "I didn't know very much about it, but I could tell it worked. I didn't need nearly as much sleep every night, and I always had loads of energy. It was easy for me to keep up with the frantic pace of performing, so I became a steady customer of Howie's. I noticed that I was starting to lose weight too, and I figured that was a bonus. So I told myself it was worth the huge price, and I kept on taking it."

"How come it's called 'black lightning', anyway?" Daphne asked, voicing a question that had been knocking on the back of Leslie's brain for a while. "I mean, I guess I can see why the 'lightning' part of the name, but how come it's black?"

"That's the color of the drug," Shara said. "It's a thin black liquid."

"It's black," Roarke put in then, "because of its method of derivation. It is distilled, much like liquor, and then boiled in order to concentrate it and heighten its effects, which makes it very dark in color." He studied Shara with an unreadable expression. "You are the first person I have encountered in a great many years who has been addicted to it."

Shara blushed, putting some color back into her face. "I was doing fine on it. I could get by on one dose a day, but I just noticed today all of a sudden that now it was taking two doses to get me through. I'd brought enough to get me through this weekend based on one dose, and I ran out this morning without realizing it. After our third show I knew I needed more, but I discovered that I didn't have any…and since Howie managed to get himself arrested last night, I didn't know how to get any. Then Calvin Dill came backstage and found out I was out, and offered to supply me directly if I could talk all you guys into signing a contract with his record company."

"Eww," muttered Daphne, screwing up her face.

"How'd he know you were hooked, and what you were hooked on?" asked Brooke.

Shara's glance bounced nervously across her sister's face. "It turned out he's Howie's supplier," she admitted. "Where he gets it from, I have no clue, but from the way he talked, he's an expert on the stuff and what it can do, and what happens to people who use it. He gave me some, and by then I was suffering from withdrawal, so I couldn't think straight." She looked at Roarke, as though pleading for understanding. "See, one dose for me is half a syringe full. Dill completely filled my syringe, and I was so far gone from withdrawal by then that all I could think about was how much I needed the stuff. So I injected the whole thing." Roarke closed his eyes, a grim expression settling over his handsome features. "I can see you get my meaning. I felt great afterwards…full of spirit and energy and just dying to get onstage. But in the middle of the show, my head started spinning and I could feel my heart pounding, going faster and faster, and then my legs went out from under me and that's the last thing I remember."

"You overdosed," Leslie told her. "For awhile everybody was stymied. We didn't know what you were taking, much less what to do about it, and we had no way of finding out. I contacted someone who knows about it, and that's how we got the information we needed. Father was the only one who knew what the antidote is. If it weren't for that, well…you'd have died."

Shara blanched again and began to cry. "Oh my God," she wailed. Joy's tears spilled over then as well, and the others' eyes promptly filled. After a moment Shara looked at Roarke again and cried, "I'll stop taking it, Mr. Roarke, I swear I will. I'll tell the police everything I know…anything, I promise!"

"Shara, calm down," Cyndy said, squeezing her cousin's hand. "We'll all help you get through this, okay? Just calm down." She looked up. "Mr. Roarke, why couldn't they find any trace of it in Shara's blood, so soon after her overdose?"

"It is rapidly absorbed from the bloodstream once it reaches the brain," Roarke said. "Put simply, the brain apparently cleans out every trace of the drug from the blood as it passes through the head, so that once the blood leaves the head, it is clear of the drug. The doctors took no brain scans, but even that would not have provided any clue. Because the drug is distilled from an otherwise harmless spice, its components look completely natural and do not raise any alarms during medical tests of either the bloodstream or the brain."

"Weird," mumbled Brooke thoughtfully.

"Just to play devil's advocate," Cyndy said, "it sounds as if it can only be beneficial, so what's the problem with taking it?"

Roarke glanced at Leslie in a moment's hesitation. "Very few humans can tolerate the parent spice," he said, speaking slowly and with some reluctance. "Those who can, however, usually are not able to get along without it, particularly if they have had access to it all their lives. But in such a concentrated form as black lightning, the effects are harmful over time. The energy provided by the drug comes from one's inner store, and eventually depletes even the last reserves. You were using all of those reserves, Miss Foster, and that's most of the reason you lost weight. Had you not overdosed, it wouldn't have been long before you'd found yourself in the hospital for total exhaustion." He paused, frowning, then added quietly, "Also, if you had used it long enough, you would have grown so dependent upon it that in time you would have needed it merely to survive."

Shara broke down completely at this news, and her sisters rallied around her, crying too. Cyndy brushed away some tears and queried, "How long does detox take?"

"Fortunately, not long at all," Roarke said. "But your cousin will need to learn to resist temptation, and must develop a new routine and healthier habits that will allow her to continue leading a performer's lifestyle without resorting to drugs in order to cope."

"We'll handle that," Cyndy said and nodded. "Mr. Roarke, Shara owes you her life, and we owe you just about everything else. How can we possibly thank you?"

"It wasn't entirely my doing," Roarke replied dismissively, smiling at her. "Why don't you and your cousins stay with her for now, and we will leave you alone for the evening." He turned to Leslie. "Let's go, child."


	9. Chapter 9

§ § § -- September 15, 1996

"Um…hello?" At that point they all looked around and noticed Michiko standing in the doorway, looking very uncertain. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I just wanted to know if Miss Foster's going to be all right."

"She'll be fine," Leslie assured her. "We found an antidote and she's okay."

"What a relief," Michiko said, lighting up. "I'm glad. Mr. Roarke, I realize I have no business being here, but I have a couple of things that might interest your guests there, if you don't mind the indulgence."

Roarke smiled. "That's up to the Fosters, Michiko," he said kindly.

"That's Michiko Tokita, the singer!" Daphne blurted. "Let her in already!"

They all laughed, even Shara, and made room for Michiko around Shara's bed. The group introduced themselves and Michiko shook hands with them all. "How on earth is it that you're here and you know about us?" Joy asked.

"I'm a native of Fantasy Island, and Leslie and I have been friends for years," said Michiko, sparing her friend a grin that was promptly returned. "My husband and stepchildren and I are here for a vacation at the moment. I've seen you perform—I was at your first show at the supper club, and also at the last one this afternoon at the amusement park with my stepdaughter. I think all of you are incredibly talented, and my stepdaughter was very favorably impressed as well. Now I have a little proposition for you. I'm taking an extended break from my own recording career, trying to decide what to do, and I think I've just found an answer." She looked at Shara. "I assume you're going to spend some time recovering from your addiction, but after you're back on your own two feet, I hope you and your sisters will come to Arcolos. I'd like to sponsor your entry into show business and get your recording career off the ground. You can record your debut album in my studio, and I'll see to it that my own staff handles publicity and production. What do you think?"

For a second or two there was a stunned silence; then all five singers exploded at one time into a frenetically excited babble that made Roarke and Leslie grin at each other. At last Michiko lifted both hands, laughing, till they subsided. "I guess that's a yes. Good, then I'll give you my e-mail address and you can keep me updated on Shara's progress in recovery. Which one of you should I be speaking with?"

"Joy's kind of the leader," Shara spoke up. "You can stay in touch with her."

Michiko nodded. "Thanks, then I'll do that."

"What was the other thing you thought they'd be interested in, Michiko?" Leslie asked then, recalling Michiko's words from a few minutes earlier.

"Oh, that's right…thanks, Leslie." Michiko grinned and turned to Shara again. "Do you mind watching a little TV? The eleven-o'clock news should be on shortly, and I think you might be interested in the lead story."

Shara shrugged. "Okay, sure. Brooke, I think the remote's on the table there."

Brooke found the device and clicked on the television set, peering at Michiko. "What story are we supposed to be watching here?"

"It's a good one," Michiko said, grinning mysteriously. "I happened to see a promo ad for it before I came over here, and the subject material sounded fascinating."

Before anyone could react, the familiar fanfare for the local newscast sounded from the speaker and all eyes went to the set. Roarke and Leslie both recognized the weekend's other guest sitting in the anchor chair. _"Good evening, and welcome to the late news; I'm Joseph Charles, with sports reporter Andy Ewing and weathercaster Kara Ball. Our top story of the night follows the breakup of a major drug-dealing operation."_ Over Joe Charlimansky's shoulder, a photo of Calvin Dill appeared, eliciting gasps from the Foster Sisters. _"Calvin Dill, a talent scout for Goliath Records, has been arrested under charges of dealing in a rare drug known as black lightning. Authorities have been after this organization for several years now, but had never been able to press charges until this weekend, when he was secretly videotaped selling drugs." _Leslie glanced at Shara, whose eyes were wide with apprehension._ "One of Dill's underlings, a Howard Helms, was arrested last evening on Fantasy Island and made a full confession this morning. Dill is expected to go on trial shortly after he is extradited from Fantasy Island back to the U.S. In other news…"_

The rest was drowned out by cheers from the Fosters, and Roarke and Leslie laughed as Brooke shut off the TV. "Was I the one he was taped selling drugs to?" Shara asked in a worried voice.

"No," Roarke assured her, "your involvement is as yet unknown by anyone other than Mr. Dill and Mr. Helms."

Shara took a deep breath. "Well, maybe it should be. Mr. Roarke, I've decided I'm going to testify at Dill's trial. I want to be sure he gets put away." She grinned at Michiko. "Then I can't wait for us to get started on our career, thanks to you."

"First and foremost, you need to get out of the hospital," Michiko said. "Right now, though, I think I should leave so you can get some rest and spend some time with the others here. Thanks so much for letting me butt in."

"You can butt in anytime, Miss Tokita," Daphne said eagerly, evoking laughter. The Fosters shook hands with Michiko, each in turn, before she departed. Roarke and Leslie made their excuses a moment later and headed for home themselves.

"So Howie Helms talked, and Joe Charlimansky got his fantasy big-time," Leslie said, relaxing in the passenger seat of the jeep. "I think that's the first connection I can ever remember between completely separate fantasies. What a great ending."

"Mr. Charlimansky showed a great enthusiasm for the news-reporting business, and it appears he makes a reasonable sleuth as well," Roarke remarked. "He took the risk of going in himself, outfitting himself with a hidden camera and microphone and conducting extensive interviews with Calvin Dill under the guise of reporting a human-interest story about the recording business. While I'm not completely clear on how he managed to get footage of Mr. Dill selling black lightning, it's quite plain that he succeeded admirably in helping to close down the drug ring." He fell silent, staring with only partial concentration at the road in front of them. "I must admit," he finally said softly as Leslie watched him with concern, "I had never expected to encounter black lightning here, on my very own island."

"You don't suppose there are others who have it, do you?" Leslie asked.

Roarke shook his head. "No—once Mr. Dill and Mr. Helms have been taken back to the United States, it will be well and truly gone, and there will be no further dealing with it."

Leslie studied him, barely aware of their arrival back at the main house, and at last took the plunge. "Father, how do you know so much about black lightning and amakarna? Is there some big secret you'd rather not tell me, or what?"

Roarke stopped the jeep, cut the engine and turned to her. "It's not so much a secret, Leslie, but it brings back some painful memories for me." She winced and he smiled at her. "I can tell you, however, that I have had extensive past experience with both the spice and the drug. I have seen too many people whose lives are affected by both." He hesitated, then said gently, "My own life has been affected as well. But that's a story for another time. It's very late, and we must be up early to see our guests off."

Leslie wanted to ask more questions, but she knew he was right, and something in her was afraid to press him too hard. "Okay, Father. I don't mean to pry."

"Oh, you aren't prying, my child. One day I'll fill you in, for I think you should know more than you do. It's simply that this isn't the right time." He smiled then. "Why don't we go on in, and you can let Christian know that his and Marina's help saved Shara Foster's life. I have no doubt they will both be very gratified to know that."

"I agree completely," Leslie said with a return smile. "I'm so glad Michiko came in to check up on Shara. What a great way for things to turn out. I'd heard Joy and Brooke complaining that the talent scouts didn't seem to be jumping at the chance to offer the group a recording contract, so it's fabulous to see Michiko taking them under her wing. It works out well for her too, because she wasn't sure what she wanted to do while she was taking a hiatus from her singing. So everybody's happy."

"That's the aim of Fantasy Island," said Roarke warmly, leading the way into the house. "When everyone is satisfied, I know I've done my job." He glanced at the stairs. "If you'll be so kind as to turn out the lights here when you've finished composing your message to Christian, I'll be grateful. I am afraid I find myself quite tired."

"Go ahead, Father, I don't mind at all," Leslie said and watched him go up before checking for phone messages and then settling at the computer. She brought up a new message, typed Christian's e-mail address into the top field, then began to tell her tale.

Hi, Christian!

It's all ended well. I told Father what you and Marina told me, and you were right: he knew the antidote. He was even able to produce a certain ingredient that he said was vital to its composition. The stuff saved our guest's life, and she's well on the way to recovery already. Not only that, but Michiko, my longtime friend and the wife of Prince Errico of Arcolos, has offered to sponsor the sisters' fledgling recording career. I'm so happy everything came out like this. The group got their fantasy, and Michiko has something exciting to look forward to. I don't think it would have happened if you hadn't recognized the symptoms I told you about. Tell Marina that both Father and I thank her from the heart. And as for you...I love you, and I miss you. But of course, you already know that!

Love always, Leslie

She smiled to herself and sent the message, then signed off and shut down the computer. There were still more mysteries than answers surrounding amakarna, but for the moment, she was just happy to see another successful weekend come to an end. Someday, she was sure, they'd all know the truth…

* * *

**A/N:** _The puzzle that is amakarna deepens! How does Roarke know what he knows about it, and where does it ultimately all end up? The answers are still a long way off, but Roarke and Leslie will encounter the stuff again one day when they least expect it…_


End file.
